


A Rainy Day In New York

by AutumnNex



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, M/M, Open to Interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:46:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnNex/pseuds/AutumnNex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin Free, having lived in New York City for over 5 years, has become numb to the endless noise of a bustling city, and decides to go on an all out drinking binge one night. The next morning, everything is going well - at least, until he misses the bus ride home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rainy Day In New York

A light drizzle was present, the drops making tiny splashes as they crashed into the sidewalk, an abandoned newspaper the only victim of the small catastrophe. The ink that once filled the pages was faded, headlines pulled from their rightful home and into the gutters of the recently clean streets. The edges were ripped and torn apart by the hurrying feet that walked above them, pressing the sheets of paper into the paved sidewalk, aided by those that had ran to try and arrive at a pointless meeting that would reward them with a pointless job with a pointless life, a life that was blackened by the endless realm of repetition. It only got blacker as the clouds got even darker, shrouding the streets in increasingly layered achromatic colors signaling a heavy rainstorm moving in from the southwest. The wind from this slow moving beast carried the white noise of car horns, profanities, exhaust pipes, and city life, all being overshadowed by a slight pitter-patter of raindrops hitting an umbrella above my head. My hair was damp and unstyled, wearing clothes that easily represented the rundown feeling of the ever recurring letdown of love in this godforsaken city that I walked in.

This was just another rainy day in New York City, I grunted to myself.

I raised up my arm to take a look at the time, but all of the rain had upped the humidity levels and my watch was hopelessly fogged. I wiped it on my shirt and it blankly read _9:50 AM_ , ten minutes before I was supposed to get on a bus and get back home. I had figured out the schedule for myself last night before I went on an all out drinking trip, hoping to god that I would remember in the morning to even try and adhere to it.  
I looked around at all of the sights - vibrant colors of street signs, posters, and shop logos that tried all too hard to break through the barrier of nothingness and rain that engulfed the city. The rain was pouring a little harder now, enough to make puddles on the recesses of messily paved streets, allowing speeding cars to create a wave of icy water to wash over any poor, unsuspecting passerby. I hugged my umbrella a little closer to my head and walked a little quicker, turning the corner onto the street where I had first come up with the idea of this “I don’t give a fuck” excursion all those months ago. Of course, I had only done that because of a stupid dare I was given at a party, but I never took it off of my calendar.  
This street was a little less gloomy than all of the others which I had wandered in the night, only because it held the bus stop at the end of its shadowed, narrow walk. It was the first and last location for the bus to make on it’s daily run, commuting passenger to and from points in the city that they couldn’t care enough to walk to.  
The rain was coming in an all-out downpour by this time, so I walked even faster and shrunk a little closer into myself to try and keep some body heat. My shoes were drenched, my pants akin to the feeling of wearing them right out of a washer. Everyone else was experiencing the same, walking with their heads down, their minds focused on one task after the other, desperate to just get the day over with. I had no complaints, though, and neither did they, so everyone steered clear of each other to avoid altercations and unnecessary slurs.  
I didn't dare look in the shop windows, already knowing I would see what a wreck I probably looked like, hunched over and desperate to just _get home_. The puddles held the same thing, but I didn't hate them as much because their distorted image was much more pleasing than that of the piercingly clear ones in occasionally cleaned glass. So I kept walking, my feet in perfect time with the thoughts of my mind.  
At last I reached the bus stop, quickly taking shelter underneath the thin glass roof, retracting my umbrella and laying it on one of the wet seats. I wiped my hands on the one next to it to remove the water and sat down, sighing in relief that I would finally be able to get some rest.  
I cleaned my watch and looked at it again, the face reading _10:07 AM_.  
I had missed the bus by seven minutes.  
I stared at my watch for a long time before moving both of my hands to my head, knowing the next one would come two hours later, but two hours was too long. I had had enough of this ill city, this stupid rain, the pointless sidewalk huggers and pedestrians.  
I calmly picked up my umbrella from the seat and took a stand, opening up the black canvas as I walked out from underneath the temporary shelter, stood on the edge of the sidewalk and held my hand out high, towards the road. There weren't many cabs out this early, but I was damned sure I was getting in one and going home some way or another.  
A while passed before I finally saw one, its bright color scheme again trying way too hard to make a statement. The driver, thankfully, took notice of my now drenched coat sleeve, slowing down and pulling to the edge of the curb. I had already closed my umbrella, sacrificed myself to the heavy rain and pulled on the slippery door handle before it even stopped, climbing in the car with an air of negativity that even seemed to numb the unusually cheery driver’s expression.

“Anywhere you’d like to go?” The driver asked, his thick british accent on par with mine, not giving a care in the world to what I could’ve answered with.  
He seemed new to the city but I felt no pity for him. He’d get fed up and used to it eventually, much like I had many, many years ago.  
“3rd and 5th.” I said tiredly, sinking back into the seat and letting the motion of the wheels on the ground carry me into a deep sleep. Only in closed spaces was anyone able to get any sort of rest in this part of town.  
My apartment was a pretty long drive away, so I figured I would at least be able to get some ten minutes worth of a small snooze before I-  
“I’m so sorry, but who in the otherworldly fuck are you?” a strikingly un-british voice said, not even a foot away from me. It was definitely a man, his accent as thick as the Jersey roots it seemed to originate from.  
I sat up, not even questioning why the cab driver allowed two separate people - fares - to get into his cab. I prepared to chew this guy out, to give him hell from the insane night and trip I had just been on, but as I turned to him I knew that wasn't going to happen, for he had the same exact look on his face as well. His clothes were no different from mine - soaked shoes, drenched jeans and an over-sized winter coat, with hair that was matted, frizzy and made up of dark red, almost brown curls, and an expression that could surely kill a man with one glare.  
His brown eyes seemed to stare into my soul, the thin wire-framed glasses not doing anything to shield his fury.

This guy meant serious business, and not in the professional type of way.

i debated on whether I should even respond to his outburst, because, after all, he did interrupt me in my train of thought. I knew better than to get cross with him, though - I didn’t want to deal with anymore situations that would only keep me from getting the fuck home.  
I looked him straight in the eyes. “I'm Gavin Free,” I said, my voice unwavering and challenging him to respond.  
He gave a little smile and turned his head away and shook it side to side.  
“No,” he said. “Don’t you dare do that.”  
“I’m sorry? Do what?” I responded.  
“Don’t you dare come into this fucking cab and act like you have some sort of superiority over me when we’re both clearly fucking equals on this horrible fucking morning. Don’t you _dare_ get mad at me for whatever this stupid-ass cab driver-”  
“Hello,” he chimed in,  
“-decided was a good idea by putting two different fares into the backseat of the same fucking cab. Don’t you _fucking_ dare start getting angry with me for just fucking asking _who you are_ , because I am not in a good mood right now and I will not hesitate to punch you the fuck out.” he said, his face getting redder as he smoothed down his hair and sighed.  
“And because you asked so _kindly_ , I’m Michael Jones.” he added, not even bothering to look at me.  
I sat there, speechless. That certainly got off on the right foot, didn't it?

“Christ, sorry I even said anything,” I told him, turning to look out the window.  
He huffed at that.  
It was obvious he had a few anger issues, but god be damned that he was going to get away with that outburst. I was determined to get the last straw in this. There was a problem, though - his demeanor was different that any other person I’d seen, and that interested me. That put me on edge, mainly due to the fact that I had no idea what he was capable of. He didn't seem like one to just take a cab to any old place in New York, either, if his Jersey accent was anything to go by. Was he a tourist? Or was he here for something more important? I debated this, trying to decide whether to go through with this new and inviting idea rather than go home, which I had been planning to do for hours. This guy put a serious dent in my schedule, and, by the looks of it, it sure didn't seem like that dent was going to get straightened out any time soon.

The cab started forward after a traffic light turned green, and only went about a mile before the driver slowed the cab down and parked it on the curb.  
“Here you are, Mr. Jones.” the driver said.  
“Thank you for the service, sir.” Michael responded, picking up his backpack - which I hadn't noticed was by his feet - and opening the door to get out. 

“You’re welcome. Come back anytime!” The driver called back.

Following through with my decision, I stayed in the car and watched Michael walk around the back of the cab. The driver pressed on the gas, but before he moved even ten feet I picked up my umbrella, grabbed the door handle and opened the door, expertly staying on my feet as I got out onto the curb, not even bothering to question why the cab driver didn't ask to pay for the ride.  
I gathered my bearings, opened up my umbrella and smoothed out my coat, noticing that Michael was beginning to walk towards me, his face contorted into one of confusion and anger. I was expecting this.

“Okay, what is it now? What the fuck is your problem?” He asked heatedly, his posture glowing with rage.

I just looked at him and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was just a little short story that I left open to interpretation and it's also my first mavin fic that I've made public c:  
> I may one day decide to continue it, who knows.  
> Some aspects of the personalities are a bit over-done, but that was just for dramatic effect, I guess you could say  
> I based this off of one of those AU ideas tumblr posts (I don't know how to link it)  
> Agh I'm not the best at these ending notes thing so I thank every single one of you that took time to read this. :D


End file.
